


Flashback

by MumbleBee19



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Flashbacks, Gen, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-25
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-12-19 20:37:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11905761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MumbleBee19/pseuds/MumbleBee19
Summary: Bitty gets stuck in the Haus bathroom late at night and has a severe flashback to when he was locked in the closet overnight. Jack gets him out. Told from Jack's POV.





	Flashback

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for PTSD flashback, dissociative state, panic attack.
> 
> Rating for language.
> 
> Characters belong to the brilliant Ngozi.

Jack snapped out of a deep sleep at the noise, already half sitting up before his brain recognized that he was awake. Heart pounding a little with the surprised adrenaline running through his veins, it took another few moments before he heard it again. Thumping. Tentative at first, and then firmer, louder. And now little noises, like a wounded animal would make. What the hell?

Jack climbed slowly out of bed, listening, trying to figure out the direction of the sounds. He padded to the door and cracked it open. The thumping had stopped, but not the whimpering. Was it coming from the hall bathroom?

Approaching tentatively – he’d nearly interrupted Holster and some random and very noisy co-ed the year before – Jack could tell the sounds being made weren’t pleasurable ones.

The thumping started up again, only now that he was closer, Jack could make out the occasional softly accented “please” and “please, no,” mixed in with what were most certainly muffled sobs. Bittle. Was he sick? What the fuck?

“Bittle? You ok?” Jack asked, hand pressed flat to the bathroom door, ear tilted for any clues as to what was going on.

“Please let me out. Please! I won’t tell anyone, I promise, just…” shallow, shuddery breaths, “please let me go!”

Jack’s heart started racing again – who the fuck was in there with Bittle? And what the fucking fuck were they doing to him? Jack reached for the door knob. It turned, but only made a strange twanging sound and wouldn’t release. Jack jiggled it (ok, shook it pretty aggressively), but it still wouldn’t open.

“Bittle! It’s Jack – who’s in there with you? Do you need help?”

No answer came except for more sounds of distress. Jack was getting more and more agitated. Something was really wrong here, and he didn’t know what to do. He heard shuffling behind him, blinking as a light was switched on, and a disheveled Shitty poked his head out of his room.

“Whatcha doin’ Jackaroo? It’s 4 in the fucking a.m.”

“Bittle’s in here and something’s wrong, but I can’t get the door open.”

Shitty’s affable expression immediately hardened as he hurried towards the bathroom door and Jack.

“Bitty? You ok in there, littlest bro?”

Silence. Shitty looked questioningly at Jack.

“I heard him earlier, banging on the door and … and begging to be let out. He’s in there, Shits.”

Shitty reached for the handle, turning it uselessly just as Jack had. Just then they heard more of the muffled cries and pleas.

“Fucking fuck, what the fuck is wrong with this door?” Shitty growled out, shaking the knob harder. The sounds seemed to frighten Bittle even more, as his distressed cries got louder before being muffled again – in a towel maybe? Jack needed to get in there and get him out.

“Bittle, back away from the door, ok?” Jack called, hands cupped to the wood grain.

“Stay back, Bits, Jack’s going to get you outta there,” Shitty echoed.

Jack blew out a breath and backed up as far as he could into the doorway leading up to the attic. Ransom and Holster must have still been out, the noise would have certainly drawn them down the stairs otherwise. Just as Jack was trying to figure the best way to ram? kick? shoulder check? the door, a very disgruntled Dex appeared at the top of the stairs like a surly ginger angel.

“What the fuck is going on? I fell asleep on the couch – don’t tell Bitty – and woke up to…”

Jack interrupted his rant, employing his ‘Captain Voice’ with as much authority as possible. “Dex – do you know how to get this door open? The knob’s broken and Bittle’s stuck in there. Something’s wrong, he won’t answer us but he’s in there.”

Dex’s angry expression immediately flattened out in surprise, but he turned and stumbled down the stairs to – presumably - retrieve his toolbox from the basement. Jack breathed a sigh of relief, and leaned his forehead against the damn door. “Bittle, it’s gonna be ok – Dex is going to get you out of there, just sit tight for another couple minutes, ok? Just sit tight bud. We’ll get you out.”

Sitty raised his eyebrows a little at Jack’s soft tone, but there was no response from the bathroom. Silence again. Jack had a sinking feeling in his gut, but he couldn’t make this go any faster without potentially hurting Bittle breaking down the door, and hurting himself more than likely in the process.

Dex clattered back up the stairs, nearly dropping the tool box in his hurry to get to the bathroom. He flicked it open, grabbed a screw driver, and started working on the knob. Both Shitty and Jack leaned in, trying to see what he was doing, but they backed away quickly when Dex snarled at the lack of light. An agonizing few minutes later, the door knob rattled loose in Dex’s hand, the half on Bittle’s side crashing to the ground. Dex inserted the screwdriver into the hole, and gradually pushed it forwards, along with the door, as the latch finally released.

Jack skirted around Dex with Shitty close behind him. They both froze when they saw Bittle, curled up on the floor next to the toilet, dressed in just his sleep pants and trembling violently, eyes open and vacant. Jack immediately looked around for some kind of threat that had to have caused this, but the bathroom was empty.

Shitty dropped down to his knees and reached for Bittle’s shoulder, starting to murmur a question. As soon as his hand made contact, Bittle startled upwards violently, covering his head with one crooked arm as if to protect it from a blow.

“Please! Please just let me go!”

Shitty jerked backwards with a look of horror and pity on his face. He looked to Jack, unsure. Dex had stepped into the room, and made a movement towards Bittle, who became more agitated, body curving tighter in fear.

“Guys, go wait in the hall, let’s give him a little more room, eh?” Jack said quietly, trying to keep his tone level and calm.

Two wide pairs of eyes looked back at him, probably mirroring the worry and confusion in his own. But they backed out quietly. Jack wasn’t sure what to do – it looked like Bittle was having some kind of panic attack or flashback or SOMETHING and Jack didn’t know how to help.

“Bittle,” he started. Stopped. Cleared his throat. “Bitty,” that was better.

“Bitty, it’s Jack. You’re in the Haus at Samwell. You’re safe here, bud. No one’s going to hurt you. The door’s open now, you can leave whenever you want.”

Jack continued to talk softly, shifting into French here and there to keep his tone lilting and smooth. Bittle’s body was gradually loosening out of its comma of fear and tension, but Jack couldn’t see his face yet. Suddenly a choked noise emerged from under Bittle’s arm, and his little frame started shaking with nearly silent sobs.

Jack swallowed down the prickly lump in his throat, trying to ease the sudden and fierce ache in his chest. “Bitty,” he pleaded, not knowing what he was begging for.

“Bits, can I touch you? I’m going to touch your arm, ok?”

No reply, Jack didn’t want to scare him but couldn’t not touch him. He reached a tentative hand out to cup Bittle’s shoulder. His chilled and clammy skin shuddered under Jack’s palm, flesh fairly crawling. But he settled instead of panicking like he had with Shits. Jack kept crooning nonsense, slowly stroking his hand up and down Bittle’s arm, trying to rub some warmth into him. Bittle was shivering nearly uncontrollably by now, and Jack was getting desperate with the need to warm him up.

“Bitty? Bits I’m going to try and pick you up – we need to get you off this cold floor and warmed up. I’ll go slow, I’m not going to hurt you, I promise.” 

Was that a nod? Or a particularly hard shiver? Jack couldn’t tell, but he hoped it was a nod. Slowly – so slowly – he curled his arms around the shaking boy. Bitty tensed up, but once he was pressed close to Jack’s own bare chest, he practically melted into him, face tucked into Jack’s neck, arms curled in tight to his own heart. Jack didn’t know what he was feeling – a little panicky still, a lot relieved, and something else. Something fierce and warm and protective. And possessive. Fuck. 

Pushing down his own unsettled emotions, Jack focused on slowly standing up. Bittle was small, but he was packed with lean muscle and weighed enough to give Jack’s knees pause at the awkward angle and dubious wisdom of this plan. But Jack ignored his joints and pushed upwards, trying not to jostle Bittle too badly. 

When he emerged from the bathroom with Bitty in his arms, he could see the looks of relief on Dex and Shitty’s faces.

“Euh, I’m not sure what’s best, but I’m going to get him warmed up and stay with him tonight. I’ll let you know if anything changes.”

Shitty nodded, clapped Jack gently on the shoulder that was opposite to Bitty’s head, and quietly stepped back into his room. Dex seemed to hesitate at the top of the stairs, looking worriedly at the limp form in Jack’s arms, but eventually shrugged jerkily and headed back down the stairs to the couch of death. Bittle was going to be so pissed that another one of his frogs was putting his health at risk with that thing.

The thought made Jack’s mouth quirk up out of the worried frown it had been settled in since waking up to Bittle’s knocking. 

“Bits? Euh, would you rather be in your room or stay with me in mine?”

Bittle didn’t respond, except to burrow closer to Jack’s body. Ok then, Jack could decide. He figured that it would be better for Bittle to wake up in familiar surroundings if he fell asleep. Or when he came out of whatever state he seemed to be in. So. Bittle’s room.

Jack nudged the door open with his hip, closing it with his foot once he’d angled into the room. It smelled like Bittle – when he didn’t smell like fear and old, cold sweat. Warm and sweet, with underlying woodsy notes. Since when did Jack know that?

He walked softly to the bed and started to lower Bittle down, only to hear a whimper of distress and feel Bittle’s hands clutching at him like a frightened koala. Crisse, Jack needed to ease up on the mental metaphors. Especially the ones comparing Bittle to small, adorable animals.  
“It’s ok Bits, I’m not leaving, I promise.” Bittle shook his head fiercely, hands still gripping hard in his panic. Well. There went Jack’s vague plan of getting Bittle something warm and dry to wear. Body heat would have to do. Jack flushed a little at the necessary intimacy of it, but he knew there was nothing sexual about the situation. Bittle needed help and Jack was his friend and captain. That was it. That was all it could be.

Jack scooted himself down onto the single mattress, but before he could ponder how to Tetris two college athlete bodies comfortably on the small bed, Bittle tucked himself into Jack’s side, head on his shoulder, his soft hair tickling Jack’s nose when he bent his head to look. That prickly feeling was back in Jack’s throat, and he reached down to drag the comforter up and over their bodies to distract himself.

“Bits? Do you know where you are?”

Silence again. But Bittle’s shivering had stopped and Jack felt him tense up a little at the question.

“In my room. In the Haus. I’m at Samwell. I’m safe,” came a quiet and scratchy sounding reply. Bittle’s accent thicker with fatigue and emotion.

Jack experienced a rush of relief so intense he actually felt light-headed for a moment, arms tightening around Bitty. “Yeah, Bud. You’re safe. I’ve got you, ok? You can just sleep. Or we can talk about it, if you want. Whatever you want, Bits.”

Jack wished he knew what he was doing. He didn’t want to make things worse, and he definitely didn’t want to just dismiss what had been a major … episode. Bittle shifted a little, nervously, and his hands fluttered against Jack’s skin like trapped butterflies against glass. He really had to quit it with the animal analogies. Bittle wasn’t fragile. He was small, but he was strong, and he deserved better than that.

“When I was a kid, it. Uh. It wasn’t easy being the way I am in Georgia. Coach’s team, they were especially … irritated. By the baking, and skating. And you know. Well, pretty much all of me, actually.”

Jack couldn’t help his arms tightening a little at the resigned tone of Bitty’s normally bubbly voice. He made a soft, encouraging (hopefully) noise, in the back of his throat.

“Well, one day after practice, they told Coach we were all going to go get pizza and then sleep over at Davy’s house. But. Um. They ended up locking me in a storage closet in the school. I was there all night, until the janitor finally…” his voice hitched, broke.

Jack felt rage bubble through his veins. Imagining Bitty, smaller then, curled up on a cold dusty floor like he’d been when Shitty had first tried to touch him. Alone and scared all night. Probably hammering away at the door, pleading with those … those, monsters, to let him out. Jack felt acid bile in the back of his throat. Unable to bear the feeling of helplessness, he turned onto his side, scooping Bittle close to his chest, cradled in his arms.

“I’m so sorry, Bits. Eric. I’m so sorry that happened to you,” he choked out, hand rubbing up and down Bittle’s back as he started to cry again. Jack kept talking, soft endearments and promises in French he wasn’t brave enough to translate. Gradually, Bitty’s sobs tapered off into hiccups, and finally, slow shallow breaths.

“What was wrong with the door, Jack? I couldn’t get out, and all of a sudden, I was back in that closet. I don’t remember anything until you were carrying me.”

“I’m not sure, Bits. The door knob was broken somehow, but Dex was here and he got you out.”

Bittle nodded into Jack’s chest. “Well,” he drawled, voice a little slurred with exhaustion, “I’ll probably be mortified in the morning, but I’m just too tired for that now.”

Jack shifted him around gently so that he could curl up behind Bitty, warm and solid. “You don’t have to be embarrassed Bits. Get some rest, Bud. I’ve got your back.” Bitty hummed in contentment, breathing already starting to even out. 

“I’ve got you,” Jack repeated quietly. 

If only Jack could keep him.


End file.
